Page 23 of The Humiliated Wife
She knew when it hit him. His eyes focused on her fully for the first time—the bag in her hand, the way she was dressed.
"You're not seriously leaving over this." His voice was getting louder, more awake, tinged with something that sounded almost like fear.
Fiona paused, hand on the strap of her bag. "Yes."
"You're overreacting—" His hands reached toward her, then fell back, like he didn't know what to do with them.
"No," she said, more firmly now. "I'm finally thinking clearly."
"Wait—just—wait." Desperation was beginning to bleed through the sleep-roughened edges of his voice. "Fi, please. Don't do this. We can talk about it. We can figure this out." He was fully awake now. “You can’t leave."
She looked at him—really looked—and felt the ache of it deep in her chest. Because she still wanted him to be the man who made her feel safe.
But the truth was sharp and undeniable now: he hadn’t protected her. He’d exposed her. Dressed her up in innocence and softness for other people’s amusement.
And she hadn’t seen it coming for one moment. Because she’d trusted him.
Dean scrambled out of bed, the covers tangling around his legs as he fought to stand. His hair was sticking up, his T-shirt twisted, and there was something wild in his eyes—like an animal that had just realized it was trapped.
She walked to the door.
Dean called her name, but she didn’t answer.
Because if she turned back, she might hesitate. And she couldn’t afford that now.
She stepped into the hallway. Closed the door behind her.
And kept walking.
Each step wasn't just distance from him.
It was a step back toward herself.
Sweetwater was onlyan hour out of the city in good traffic, but as Fiona drove, the world softened around her. The buildings got lower. The concrete gave way to grass. The sky felt bigger, less crowded.
The city was her favorite place in the world. Shelovedits noise, its energy, the rhythm of it under her feet. She loved her school, her kids, the street cart that knew her coffee order.
But right now, she needed to be with people she could trust.
She’d thought she had that in the city. She’d thought she had that in her marriage. She’d been wrong.
She didn’t know what was worse—being lied to, or being laughed at.
Maybe it was both. Maybe it was being lied toso wellthat she’d clapped for him while he made her a punchline.
She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been wound until the skyline slipped from her rearview mirror and her shoulders finally,finallydropped.
It wasn’t that Sweetwater was perfect. But it was familiar. It washers. And right now, she needed that.
Emma’s house came into view—a squat, cheerful thing with blue shutters and an overgrown hydrangea bush that looked like it had ambitions of world domination. Fiona parked in the gravel drive and sat still for a moment, hands resting on the wheel. The weight of her wedding ring felt suddenly enormous—foreign and foolish on her finger. Like wearing a promise no one else had kept.
Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Dean.
She’d been such a fool. She’d thought he respected her. God, how stupid could she have been?
She flipped it face-down.
The front door creaked open. Emma stood on the porch in socks and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun.
